


The Pursuit of Happiness

by doctormccoy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bickering, Domestic Fluff, Get Together, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Age of Ultron, farmers markets, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormccoy/pseuds/doctormccoy
Summary: "I'm a lonely warrior,Trading my guns for a nice sky,I'm light as a feather."





	The Pursuit of Happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IntuitivelyFortuitous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntuitivelyFortuitous/gifts).



> Title and summary quote from ["The Pursuit of Happiness" by Beyries.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XghzTTFDu60)
> 
> A commission fic for my dear friend Dee, my cohort in all things BuckySam.

When Steve had asked Sam if Bucky could hide out at his place for a while, he thought that, at the most, it would be vaguely uncomfortable, perhaps even mildly inconvenient. Some awkward schedule shuffling, the occasional empty milk carton in the fridge, maybe loud brooding on the couch, the usual things you’d expect when inviting a dude you barely knew to live with you. 

What Sam is not prepared for is tripping over a pile of very firm muscle at two in the morning because Barnes decided the hallway floor is more comfortable, or the now necessary weekly trips to the grocery store to fill his empty pantries. He’d seen Steve put away an impressive amount of food on numerous occasions, but Barnes ate like every meal was going to be his last. 

It’s hard to get angry at the guy when you know the reason why, but still. It was the principle of the matter.

Sam leans back in his seat at the kitchen table, studying his house guest as surreptitiously as possible over his coffee cup. He’d been worried as to what exactly Steve expected him to do with Barnes while his dumb, stubborn ass followed Natasha all the way to Russia in an attempt to ferret out anyone who knew what had been done to Barnes. He’s a group therapy counselor at the VA, not a licensed therapist, or a doctor, or any of the other things someone like Barnes probably needs right now. 

Steve had just smiled at him in that annoyingly reassuring way he always does. 

“Bucky doesn’t need a therapist, right now. He just needs somewhere peaceful and a friend.” 

Well, he can’t really argue with that logic, especially when Steve gets all big baby blues and Friendship Is Magic on him. 

Besides, it’s not like Barnes is a _bad_ roommate, persay. Just a strange one. 

“If you want more eggs, there’s some still left in the pan,” Sam offers, watching Bucky stare plaintively at his empty plate, as if more food will just magically appear. He’s been staying with Sam for a couple months now and still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of getting food for himself, as if he’s afraid of offending Sam with how much he eats.

“Thanks for the assist, Captain Obvious. My eyes still work,” Barnes grouses, though he makes no move towards the pan resting on the stove. Sam looks towards the ceiling in a silent ‘Lord give me strength’ before he stands, retrieving the pan from the stove and dumping out the rest of the scrambled eggs onto Barnes’ plate. No, it definitely isn’t his fear of offending Sam’s delicate sensibilities that keeps Barnes from serving himself. 

“It’s a pity your mouth does, too,” Sam snarks back, ditching the pan in the sink with the rest of the dishes he needs to do at some point. Bucky makes a face at him and stifles whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue with a giant forkful of food. Whatever. 

“I’m going to the farmer’s market, we’re out of… everything. Did you wanna come with or are you gonna stay here and watch more of that reality trash you call television?” Sam shouts over his shoulder, tossing his shirt into the hamper and trading it out for a clean one. 

Silence greets him, which he assumes means Barnes plans to stay indoors today, and that’s perfectly fine with Sam. Bucky very rarely goes further than the mailbox most days. 

“Can I come with you?” a voice suddenly asks from the doorway to his bedroom, nearly scaring the piss right out of Sam. He tries to coach his heart to slow down and turns to look at Barnes, standing there in his sweatpants and stockings, looking as rumpled as ever but with an underlying gleam of wary caution, like he expects Sam to suddenly change his mind. It’s frankly adorable and his heart skips a beat in a way that has nothing to do with the scare he just got.

“Of course, man. You’ll have to change, though, I’m not taking you out in public looking like a hobo.Think of the children,” Sam comments, folding his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow rather pointedly. Barnes takes the hint and disappears down the hall to the guest bedroom, reappearing by the time Sam is done brushing his teeth.

Sam wonders if this is a good idea, watching Bucky’s reflection standing there in jeans and a pullover, hands jammed into his pockets and looking mighty twitchy. He’s invited Barnes to come out with him on numerous occasions in the time he’s been here and this is really the first time he actually took Sam up on his offer. 

Still, it isn’t Sam’s place to dictate Bucky’s boundaries to him and if he says he wants to come then he can come. 

“Ready to go?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at his stoic roommate. Bucky startles at the sound of his voice and looks up, his sad eyes comically wide for a moment as if he hadn’t expected the question, and, seriously. What is it with these Brooklyn super soldiers and the big blue doe eyes? 

“Ready to go?” Sam repeats now that he has Bucky’s attention. Those same eyes narrow briefly as if in consideration of the question before he nods, withdrawing his hands from the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replies hoarsely, thumbing at the glove hiding his metal hand from view. Sam stares at him for a few more moments before he gestures at the bathroom doorway, which Barnes is blocking with his considerable bulk. 

“You gonna move out of the way anytime today, then?” he comments idly, and Bucky’s mouth screws into a frown, eyebrows drawing together.

“No, I plan to just stand here all day and annoy the shit out of you,” Barnes snaps back, but he moves back into the hallway anyways, allowing Sam to step past him and down towards the kitchen. He mutters under his breath about Bucky annoying the shit out of him regardless of where he stands while he laces up his sneakers, sensing more than seeing the other man’s presence behind him by the door. Steve’s goddamn lucky that Sam has the patience of a _saint_. 

The ride over to the market is blissfully silent, save the muted chords of some pop song on the radio. It’s a comfortable silence, all things considered, and Bucky spends the majority of it looking out the window, watching the people jogging and walking their dogs and generally enjoying the warm sunny day. It’s actually kind of nice and Sam is glad to have the company for once. 

The farmer’s market is bustling when they finally arrive, and Sam spares a sideways glance at Bucky to see if he’s spooked by the crowd at all. Barnes is staring determinedly out the windshield as if he’s seeing a challenge to be overcome rather than a bunch of suburban Washingtonians bartering for organic, free range, gluten free oranges. 

The sharp snap of Sam closing his car door seems to spur Bucky into action and he joins Sam outside the car, still looking more apprehensive than a man who can easily bench press a minivan probably ought to. 

“You okay, man? You can stay in the car if all these scary yoga pants wearing hipsters are gonna be too much for you to handle,” Sam says idly, grinning when Bucky instantly takes the bait. 

“Shut your damn mouth, Wilson, before I shut it for you,” he growls, slamming the passenger side door behind him and stalking towards the market looking very much like a big scared dog with its fur standing up every which way. 

Sam chuckled to himself and followed after Barnes, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. 

“We may as well start on one end and work our way around,” he comments lightly and shoots a look at Bucky, as if asking his opinion. 

Bucky stares back him, eyebrows drawn in concentration before he shrugs, absently fiddling with his glove. 

“Question,” Bucky hums thoughtfully, pausing to stop and look at a stall filled with every color of apple in the rainbow. Sam blinks but nods, nonplussed as to what exactly he can have to ask that makes him appear so serious.

“If all these people are yoga pants wearing hipsters, what exactly does that make you?” 

Sam rolls his eyes and shoves Barnes with his shoulder, gracefully ignoring the way the other man is snickering at the joke he’s just made. 

“Keep it up and I’m gonna leave you here to fend for yourself, you ungrateful swine,” Sam bickers back, pulling a crumpled up cloth bag from his jacket pocket and dropping a couple apples into it. 

“Oh no, how awful. An unlimited supply of food within a twenty minute walk of the house,” Bucky deadpans, sweeping his brown hair absently behind his ear as he studies the crate of Macintosh apples in front of him. “How ever will I survive?” 

Sam grabs two of the apples Bucky is eyeballing and drops them into his bag before handing the vendor his money, pointedly not acknowledging any and all commentary from the peanut gallery. 

“Maybe I’ll make a pie to take into my group therapy meeting this week,” he thinks out loud, mentally making a list of the things he’ll need to pick up at the regular grocery store tomorrow to make that happen. Barnes doesn’t respond to that but instead moves onto the next stall boasting a colorful assortment of exotic produce Sam has tried on some of his more adventurous days. 

Bucky picks up a spiked red fruit and studies it curiously, looking up at Sam with a raised eyebrow. 

“Dragon fruit. Actually pretty good when it’s cold,” he offers by way of explanation, shrugging. Bucky looks back down at it and considers it for a lengthy moment before putting it back. 

“Chicken,” Sam comments, just to see Bucky make an annoyed face at him, but picks up the dragon fruit and buys it anyways. 

They wander around the market for another hour in relative peace and soon Sam’s bag is heavy with the spoils of their trip, slung over his shoulder while he compares two different eggplants. Bucky is at his elbow, doing his best to eat a sticky maple sugar candy without getting it all over his face and failing spectacularly. 

By the time Sam has purchased his eggplant and turned around Bucky is staring at his sugar dusted hand like he’s trapped and doesn’t have a clue what to do now, brows furrowed. Sam notices a smear of sugar candy on his nose and, caught up in the moment, he can’t help but reach out to rub it away with his thumb, startling Bucky. 

And suddenly Sam is on the receiving end of those big baby blues again and his stomach does that annoying flippy floppy thing it always does when Bucky lets down his guard and allows him to get close like this.

“You had a little something,” Sam hears himself saying, pulling his hand away from Bucky’s face and absently licking the maple flavoring off his finger. Bucky’s eyes dart down to watch his tongue chase away the sugar as a pink flush rises in his cheeks and he looks back up to meet Sam’s eyes, suddenly a lot nearer than he was a moment before. Sam feels himself leaning in before his brain catches up and is only a scant few inches away from Bucky’s mouth before a toddler squeals with laughter at the next stall over breaks the spell. 

He takes a step back and coughs to cover up his embarrassment, ferreting out a napkin from his pocket and offering it to the stunned super soldier. 

“Here. For your hand,” he mumbles, running an awkward hand through his hair. That had been an extremely close call. Sam’s pretty sure that Steve would put him six feet under if he came back and discovered Sam had been putting the moves on his traumatized prisoner of war best friend in his absence. 

He turns around to make his way to the next stall when he feels a broad hand between his shoulder blades, settling warm against him for only a brief moment before it slides in a line straight down his spine. It takes a second for him to figure out what just happened but the sound of Barnes’ sniggering gives him away and Sam whips around to look at him, arm twisting behind himself to try and reach where Bucky’s hand had just been. 

“Damn it, Barnes, I just gave you a perfectly good napkin,” he snaps, feeling the sticky stripe of maple sugar Bucky had just wiped on his clothing. He happens to _like_ this shirt. 

Bucky smirks at him and shrugs in a mock innocent gesture of ‘who, me?’ he must have learned from Steve. Sam definitely isn’t buying it and he hopes his deadpan stare conveys that adequately before he turns around, stomping down the line of stalls and away from his annoying house guest. 

He’s sitting at one of the wooden picnic tables on the outer fringes of the market going over his list to make sure he has everything when Bucky reappears again, bearing two ice cream cones in hand. A peace offering apparently and Sam would be tempted to refuse just to see him squirm if it weren’t for the open, earnest expression on Barnes’ face. Damn these goddamn Brooklyn boys and their big puppy eyes straight to hell. 

Sam accepts the cone without a word and Bucky sits down beside him while they eat their ice cream in companionable silence. He’s just about to comment that they should probably head back when he feels a hand tentatively sliding over the one he had pressed flat on the wooden bench beside him as he’d eaten. He goes still, almost afraid to breathe, as shy fingers carefully lace themselves between his own, and he’s suddenly painfully aware of how loud his heart is pounding in his ears. 

Slowly, so slowly that he wouldn’t be moving at all if he went any slower, Sam turns his hand over beneath Bucky’s so they’re cradled palm to palm, still staring straight ahead as if looking at Barnes would break the spell they both seemed to be under. Their melting ice cream drips on the picnic table but neither of them seem to notice as the entire universe narrows down in that moment to the places where skin touches skin.

Sam swallows thickly, adam’s apple bobbing, and dares to chance a look at the man beside him, freezing under the weight of that ice blue stare. Bucky is looking at him like he personally hung all the stars in the sky and Sam, Sam isn’t used to being on the receiving end of something that intense, that… important. 

“Steve is gonna murder me in my sleep when he finds out, you know that, right?” he observes, allowing Bucky to pluck the ice cream cone out of his free hand and drop it onto the wad napkins he had gotten. Bucky doesn’t say anything in response except to circle his gloved fingers around Sam’s wrist and pull his hand close to his face, mouth curving up into a sly smirk. 

And Sam just about has a _heart attack_ on the spot when, without warning, Bucky licks at his ice cream covered index finger before sucking it straight into his mouth in front of the entire farmer’s market, God, and anyone else who happened to walk by their picnic table on that warm sunny day. Ripping his hand away from Bucky’s mouth with an undignified squawk of embarrassment, Sam tries to resist the urge to strangle him while Bucky snickers, looking more at ease than Sam had ever seen him.. 

“Steve will deal with it. He ain’t my Mama and I don’t need his permission to flirt,” Bucky finally murmurs, cocking his head to the side as he studies Sam’s flushed face with no small amount of curiosity. Suddenly he’s a whole hell of a lot closer and Sam has only the briefest of moments to collect his thoughts before Bucky’s mouth is on his, tasting sweetly of maple and vanilla ice cream. 

He decides that thinking is pretty overrated anyways and allows himself to melt into the unexpected kiss, fingers tightening around the hand still resting on top of his own. Some part of his brain that is still capable of functioning briefly notes that Bucky is actually pretty good at this, letting the super soldier coax his lips apart with an inviting swipe of his tongue. It’s hot and messy and everything Sam would expect a kiss from Bucky would be like --- not that he’s ever thought about what kind of kisser Bucky is, of course, and when it’s over he’s staring slack jawed at the other man, stunned into complete silence.

“I knew there had to be some way to shut you up, Wilson,” Bucky teases and the spell over Sam is broken, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He frees his hand from Bucky’s and grabs him by the hair to reel him back in for another kiss, feeling the welcome scratch of Bucky’s stubble against his mouth and cheeks. Sam can smell his own shampoo in that long brown hair and is caught off guard by how much he likes that, Bucky walking around, smelling like him.

When Sam draws back this time Bucky is looking warmly at him, his face relaxed and unguarded, even out here in this crowded, chaotic place. He realizes with a jolt that’s because Bucky trusts Sam to keep him safe and there’s a liquid, syrupy sensation that spreads throughout his body that he distractedly recognizes as… joy. 

“You wanna go home?” Sam asks softly, voice rough with emotion as he studies the man sitting next to him with new eyes. Bucky’s gaze drift down and Sam lets him have that peaceful moment, wondering exactly when the last time was that Bucky heard that question and actually understood what it meant. He’s still beaming when Bucky looks back up at him again, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“Yeah, let’s go home,” Bucky agrees and Sam kisses him again, just to see how good the word ‘home’ tastes on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [deforestkelleys](http://deforestkelleys.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Does DC have the space for big sprawling farmer's markets? Who knows, certainly not me, but it does now.


End file.
